The Face He Sees
by azure orbis
Summary: Tragedy strikes and Shikamaru struggles with himself and drinking. Forgiveness must come from within first.


The Face Within

By: Azure Orbis

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He knows how damaging drinking is, to be addicted to it, especially while he embraces the toilet, the brief lucid moment between heaving out the contents of his stomach. Still the drink beckons him and he listens like a man besotted by its siren allure.

He looks in the mirror sometimes. It is a rare occurrence since he doesn't like the face that looks back at him now. Seeing the aged face, the odd "pineapple" hair as someone once termed it and the countless scars, he wondered what happened to him, where did his life go wrong?

He was not a genius by blood, but by brain. He had a promising career before him and it was a matter of small pride for him, but he was the first of his graduating class to be promoted to chuunin. Bet they didn't expect that, all those instructors back at the academy, who thought he was a good-for-nothing who just liked to sleep all day. Well, in truth, he was a good-for-nothing lazy bum who did like to sleep or stare at the sky in his leisure time-any other activity would be too strenuous and require some kind of commitment from him, a commitment he would not and could not make. And yet there he was, a chuunin at age twelve, even though he had no portfolio of useful jutsus to help out his team when they would inevitably need him to pull through. That's how he almost lost his first group, the first group he ever commanded.

They needed someone with the raw power of a bloodline limit genius and he was not one of those gifted individuals. It did not matter to him that the team had a bloodline genius and another individual of untapped raw power because it did not matter, he was the team leader and they were counting on him to lead them to the end of a completed mission alive. They almost died, all of them, including himself and for the rest of his life, he would place the blame squarely on himself. Yes, the heavy and suffocating blame belonged on him, to weigh him down forever.

Being a genius of intelligence did not help because it meant that he would remember with startling clarity of all the bad, but necessary decisions he made. He watched his comrades make their sacrifices and although he was uneasy, he could not see any other way. It was a bad time and he had to make the best possible decisions for the mission. All of them nearly died and it was only by the miracle of the medics and a shaky alliance that any of them survived. They did not survive because of him, or his great intelligence. No, it was his intelligence that condemned them all.

That first mission was years ago, and he was older now, but none-the-wiser.

Tragedy seemed to be his way of ninja. Actually, it seemed that way with all shinobi. There was no happy ending. If he was lucky, he would die of old age, years after retiring from the blood works. If he was lucky, he would be surrounded by friends when he finally passed. However, Shikamaru is not so lucky.

He played right into their hands. Everything went to hell after they were first ambushed. But they didn't finish off the ragged and tired group until later. Why? They were playing with them, like how a cat toys with its prey, letting it run and scurry a short distance away, always giving it some hope that it would escape this time even when there was no chance. It was pitch dark, even though it was during late afternoon- a ninjustsu no doubt. He could hear them screaming for back up, screaming for help and then, there was no more screams, only silence. The silence terrified him more than the screams, the noise meant they were still alive, still moving, still fighting for their lives. He runs, not away like the coward in him wants to, but toward the silence.

The sight is more than he can bear. All of the precious people to him, they were all gathered here to be slaughtered and his heart shatters along with his mind. Everyone of them is gone because of his failure to think ahead, to think strategically as he was supposed to. Actually, he did, but they knew he would overanalyze and therein laid his weakness; simple things couldn't simple because there was always something behind the plain surface.

He chokes back a sob. It is a terrible sight to see everyone you've ever cared for dead. It is burned into his mind.

Unlike the rumors suggested, he was not spared. He did fight to keep his life, but that was not the reason why he limped back to Konoha, alive and injured. His colleagues were less than sympathetic and those who tried to comfort him were driven away by his wild and erratic behavior. Only the 5th seemed to believe in him. She understood and did little out of the ordinary, saying less, which was better than all the kind words or gestures in the world. She knew the pain that consumed him. She wondered if he would run, just like she did, those many years ago, when her precious people were stolen from her. But she knew he never would, his sense of honor and the silent vow he made to suffer keep him there, rooted to the place where his fondest and worst memories were.

He wants to run, but cannot run, so he turns to the drink. She would scold him if she knew, but then again, maybe she would understand and offer him a sympathetic smile instead. And he would…well, he would neither smile nor scold, but sit down and probably join him with a cup of sake himself. Anyways that doesn't matter; they're not here anymore and he's the reason.

He withdraws from his life, refusing all missions and lives off the funds his dead parents left him and the money he has carefully horded in the past "in case of an emergency". There seems to be no end to the state of emergency he is in and strangely enough, he is glad of it. He is glad he still feels horrible whenever he ventures out to see the world and catches the looks that either pity or scorn him. He is glad his heart still aches whenever he touches their names, lovingly engraved onto that jet-black stone by the stonecutter he hired- he would not have just anyone chisel their names except the best. He is glad he cannot go through a day without seeing their faces or hearing their voices somewhere, somehow, even thought he knows they are gone.

He doesn't look at his dear clouds anymore. He wants to, Kami, he wants to. But he cannot find the peace he used to find. He only sees them in all the obscure and changing surfaces, remembering everything they did as a team. The problem with being a genius is that he can never forget.

1So ever night he guzzles a few cups down like clockwork- it's the only way to calm his nervous system enough to allow him to sleep. He finds his only comfort in the drink. Perhaps tonight, the ghosts of all his past mistakes will not haunt him. Perhaps tonight, they will forgive him. Perhaps, he can forgive himself at last. It is a hard thing to do for how can you forgive yourself if you did everything in your power to save the ones you loved, and yet you still failed? It is a question he does not wish to answer, although he confronts it daily.

_How do you live with yourself when your mistakes cost the lives of people you love?_ How do you indeed.

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A/N- I don't really know why I wrote this or made Shikamaru suffer so much. But it does seem to be on the inevitable side since NARUTO is about a world of ninjas where people seem to die on a regular basis and at a young age. Case in point, Kakashi is considered a veteran shinobi even though he's only 26 and the Sannin are miracles being at the ripe old age of 50. Well, there you have it. I have read a few fics of similar situations and they just tore at my heart, so I guess I've been wanting to write one for myself.

Criticize and comment please. I really would like some feedback on my writing. Haven't had the inspiration to do Naruto stuff for a while, so it would help lots.


End file.
